070: A Little Truth
by Werewolf's Oneshots
Summary: Your shiniest day might come in the middle of the night.


"Even though interpretation's what I count on... I paint my Heaven but it looks like Hell" -Blackhawk

This story is whatever you make of it.

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_Take my hand..._

The blackness was his world and it was wrong-

_Take my hand..._

He could not see through the ink and he was afraid. Air flew over his skin. Wind beat at him as if he were traveling. Was he moving forward? In the black there was no left right up-

_Falling down?_

Father.

Amusement, he felt. _That_ _is the first name you call for?_

He felt chastised, and worse, ashamed. Panic was not in his character, and he was obviously not in God's favor. But he didn't apologize.  
He floated helplessly in oblivion. The black was thorough and solid. His eyes were open wide, trying painfully to see, but there was a void and all he could perceive was the lack of anything.  
His senses limited so specifically, he began to realize.

"I am in a vessel."

_And not._

"Where am I?"

_Down a few levels. _

He bristled. "Brother." He expected pain and fire, but could not feel the telltale heat nor sense the damnation.  
There was a sudden wave of disorientation. He reached out, intangibly, past the darkness, but he couldn't feel the light. Only the wind.

_You've been-_

There was no heaven, no light, hope, faith, or answer from above. He was-

_- cut off. Why._

"I brought myself here." He said in his defense. His voice did not echo, it was lost in the vastness. _He_ was lost in the vastness. And alone, and forgotten if not hated. Certainly not believed in. He didn't lie though. He had left it all, not the other way around. He had been the great betrayer.  
His skin shivered. Someone was near him, almost touching.

Another's skin brushed his wrist.

_Let me take your hand, Castiel. You aren't alone._

He hesitated, he _became_ hesitation. His being froze and he wondered, at the words and the implications. There was eternity to think about.

The hand took his, and he held it. It was strong and warm and he was willing to follow. He wondered why.

"I have been longing to talk with you, Castiel."

He closed his eyes against the darkness. He could feel the words vibrate through the air, judge the distance. His brother's voice was that of his vessel's, familiar and, to Castiel, dangerous. But the voice was different than what he'd known. "We have spoken before." He was not going to fall for his brother's schemes.

"You're in unfamiliar territory."

"I am not alone." Castiel reminded him.

There was a laugh and a sigh, overlapping. As if he could see his brother's face smile and tears come to his eyes, Castiel knew he was happy at this. It startled him, but still he could sense no malice. The hand around his tightened; he could feel its heartbeat, gently pulsing, could feel each muscle twitch. In his mind he could imagine these things, but his eyes showed him black.

"Do you know what you're doing, brother?"

Castiel shook his head, the air wooshing past his ears, blowing through his vessel's hair. He'd turned his back on his only comfort, and didn't know the next step.

"Ah!" He cried, for the fallen angel had reached past him and touched a finger to his wing. His own free hand went immediately to the place, feeling the feathers. He was breathing heavily, shocked. His wings, corporeal? Never had he felt such a sensation.

"You left your home and your family." His brother was closer to him now. His voice was clear. He could imagine the short tan hair, and the tearing flesh of the face, inches from his own. "You walked away from them when they needed you. You killed your kin because they were hunting you down."

The truth and reality behind his words stung Castiel. In his father's flock of angels, he hadn't been the black sheep, he'd been the wolf. First turned against the rest, slaughtering his supposed kin, scaring the shepherd from the hills. A wolf from, perhaps, the most docile of sheep. The first since-

"Myself."

Castiel's body felt weak. He let his limbs fall limp. This was his Hell then. He was thrown into the darkness. His chest was flooded with sorrow.

"Don't worry about yourself brother." His voice was regretful, but meant to be comforting. "This is not Hell."

Two strong arms took his shoulders, pulled him closer. He flinched away, but couldn't fight. He prepared to be torn apart, scorched with hellfire, strangled with the grace that was sure to be cut from his being.  
But he felt only a warm embrace, gentle fingers tracing his wing feathers, as his brother's arms circled him.

"You're free now," Lucifer said into his ear. "You haven't fallen. Father will still think of you." His conviction to this was strange to Castiel. What did Lucifer care for God, besides sorrow and reminiscence?

But it didn't matter. "What do I have left?" Castiel spat back at him. "What is there besides family?"

"You have what you started, and what you make of it."

Not what he wanted to hear, but true. Taking a different point of view was not pleasant, but he could not turn back. He had burnt his bridges. His future was up to him.  
Shivers traveled his wings as his brother stroked the feathers. The foreign touch was comforting, yet disconcerting. Was he really so human now?

"No, you're better than them." Some of the old steel was back in those words. It was almost scripted, a cliché from this fallen warrior. "You'll see that soon."

Cas thought of humans, the ones he knew. The ones who were trying so hard to stop Heaven and Hell from colliding on their little, insignificant world. Why was he fighting for them? At that moment in time, they hardly seemed to matter. Not when his Father was gone, not when his home was being torn apart and his siblings murdering one another.

"There, there," his brother cooed. Mockingly, Castiel assumed, but the Devil went on, fingering his feathers lightly. "This is your heart, it's a beautiful thing. It hurts now for the first time, but it's healing for the first time too. Listen to it."

They stayed there for several long moments, thinking. Castiel felt more at home in this dark place, with this dark angel, than anywhere he knew. Safe, sheltered. It felt like everything-

"Is going to be okay, in the end." The statement came from the same person holding him, but it was no longer his brother speaking. Familiar, a voice he'd met before. One he could almost put a face to. There was pressure on his forehead, two fingers pressing his skin. "That's how I planned it."

Castiel frowned, feeling drowsy. "Plans... do not always work as intended..." Who was this after all?

_No. But that doesn't mean there isn't one._

Castiel awoke, opening his eyes to the daylight.

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"And that my friend... is the glory of true independance. You do what you do what you do what you just gotta do."

Prompt #70, Hold My Hand


End file.
